


The Circus Isn’t Much Fun for the Animals, Somehow

by Rynfinity



Series: The March of the Damned [20]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M, Mental Health Issues, References to Addiction, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:43:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2683052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I did all the stuff we've been learning, <i>all</i> of it, and it got me nowhere.  Fucking nowhere.   It just sucks so bad, you know?  No matter how hard I try no one can put up with me.  No one can love me."</p><p> </p><p>This is a direct sequel to <i>Everyone Needs a Little Something Sometimes</i> and will make the most sense read after its predecessors. </p><p>This story takes place in the same AU and timeframe as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2271906/chapters/4991598">Lessons</a> from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/104813">Out of the Mouths of Babes</a>; unlike the Babes stories, this one is told from Loki's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are more lessons out there to be learned than Loki can stomach.

"Are you okay?"

The coach's words hang in the air. The instructor stops and waits. Meanwhile, the clients sit there all but silent (in various stages of fidgeting uncomfortably). All the clients, that is, but one slender, unassuming woman who's busy sobbing noisily into her own hands.

“Elise?” The coach leans a little closer but doesn’t actually touch her. “Can you tell me what you need?”

Loki should probably want to go comfort the woman (or, at least, normal people would). He makes sure to compose his face accordingly, in case anyone is watching him, but- but, really, she's always reminded him a little too much of Jane. That, and he’s noticed she wears long sleeves in the hottest weather. Loki is far too close to _that_ to pretend he doesn't know exactly what it signifies. It isn't safe for him to befriend addicts or cutters, not if he wants to stay mostly in recovery. He normally tries to avoid her.

"G- G dumped me last night," she says at last. They don’t use names here, not for people _on the outside_. Her voice shakes.

Loki's feeling _something_ now... he's just not sure if it's revulsion, fear, or pity.

"I did all the stuff we've been learning, _all_ of it," she tells- the coach, the group at large, "and it got me nowhere. Fucking nowhere. Sorry," she admits, wincing. "I shouldn't have said that. It just sucks so bad, you know? No matter how hard I try no one can put up with me. No one can love me."

All through the room chairs creak as people shift uncomfortably. Sometimes the lecture hall/classroom format feels stiff and impersonal but - today, at least - Loki is grateful they're not in the classic group therapy circle. An endless ring of bouncing knees and wiggling feet, crossed arms and downturned faces would probably freak him into getting up and leaving, and he knows _that_ never comes without repercussions.

As the endless seconds tick by his doodle, which started out as a series of small adjoining circles, turns into something that looks way too much like a dagger. Loki hurriedly gives it six small legs and a set of butterfly wings, just in case the other coach happens by and catches sight of it.

The next doodle turns itself into a dagger too.

The instructor sets her laser pointer down with a loud click. Everyone immediately focuses on her, grateful for the distraction. "Maybe I should take a moment to remind all of us,” she starts, sweeping her arms to the sides as though she could give the whole room a hug, “that - for everyone, even those lucky few people out there who grew up fully-actualized with minimal baggage in happy, healthy homes - relationships are in a very real sense living entities." She pauses and looks around the room (and so, a little less obviously, does Loki). One row in front of him and a few seats away the woman is still sobbing quietly, nodding from time to time as the coach whispers to her.

"They're born,” the instructor explains. “They grow and change. Sometimes despite our best efforts they weaken and die. That's all _normal_ ," she emphasizes. "Typical. Usual. All of it happens, to everyone. Do we contribute?" It's probably a rhetorical question, so Loki - who is feeling more than a bit triggered and sick - doesn't even nod. Still, as a unit the group murmurs its assent. "Sometimes we do, yes,” she tells them. “But we don't always cause it and we can't always prevent it. And it doesn't mean any of us are _bad people_."

Someone nicer, or at least less self-serving, than Loki produces a wad of fresh tissues. 

The woman – Elise, but it’s not safe to think of her that way - stops crying.

Loki draws five more daggers as the class drags on. He doesn’t even bother trying to disguise them.

~

"How are you doing with what happened in lecture this morning," Dr. Riley asks him after lunch.

" _Why_ does everyone insist on treating me like I’m Grandma Nellie's antique fucking _bone china_ ," he snaps without thinking. "Fuck," he says again, loudly, curling forward to dig the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. "I guess I don't need to bother with an answer _now_ , do I?" When she doesn’t comment he spends- a couple of minutes, probably, trying to calm himself by focusing on his breathing. In. Out. Yeah, not happening. "I wish I wasn't a fucking conduit for everyone else's feelings," he grumbles. "Maybe then life would be a leeeetle bit easier."

"Maybe," she says. "But then-."

" _I wouldn't be what makes me exclusively Loki_ ," he finishes for her with an edge in his voice even he finds grating. "Boo fucking hoo. Cry me a motherfucking river. I’m such a special fucking snowflake. _Fuck!_ " He slams the side of a fist into the chair arm so hard two fingers go numb and tingly.

Without both hands to brace with Loki finds himself toppling over. He lets it happen, not trying to fight gravity even as he’s sliding off the chair completely and clunking to the floor. "I'm such an ass," he says. "You must hate me."

Dr. Riley leans forward in her chair and looks down at him. “No, actually, I don’t,” she reminds him. “I enjoy working with you, and I think I can say I know you well enough to not be surprised when something challenging leaves you a little off-balance.” She rolls her shoulders a little. “Are you coming back up, or should I come down?”

Loki sighs and rolls onto his stomach. “I think I’ll just stay here the rest of the day,” he tells the floor. “Everyone can step over me, can’t they?”

“I’m not sure you’re my best option when it comes to area rugs,” she observes drily. Her boots creak a little as she shifts to the edge of her seat and then settles down, cross-legged, onto the floor. “How _would_ things have been going,” she asks him once she’s gotten herself situated, “if class had unfolded a little more typically?”

He sighs again. It still would have sucked, just differently. “I’m having trouble with _just asking_ Thor things,” he tells her, “without it leading to issues,” _and now I’m extra-worried that he’s going to leave me, especially if I keep pushing_ , he doesn’t offer, because there’s only so much he wants to get into at a time.

Bite-sized therapy topics for the win. Thors d’oeuvres. Which doesn’t end up sounding as though it means what he’d intended, not at all, so he doesn’t say it. Instead Loki groans and rolls back up onto his side.

The floor is hard and lying on it is not particularly pleasant, now that he’s been down here a bit and had a chance to think about it.

“Issues,” she repeats.

He thinks about blaming Thor but- well, he can do that without professional help. It’s not really what he’s here for. If blaming Thor was an effective way to fix his own problems, he would already have been perfect a long time ago. “It takes me a lot to psych myself up to ask,” he confesses, “and by then I’m all stressed. I end up getting nasty.”

“And how does Thor take that,” she asks. She doesn’t look nearly as uncomfortable down here as he is.

Loki sighs. “Better than I want him to, usually,” he admits.

She smiles at that. He knows where this is going; knows he probably shouldn’t have said it to start with. “So the real issue,” she summarizes, “is that it’s not causing _enough_ of an issue.”

“Yeah,” he tells his own armpit, because this is embarrassing _center of the known universe_ shit. Sometimes being in the spotlight all the time is wearing. “Probably.” He clears his throat. “But I don’t think Thor knows that.”

“He may not,” Dr. Riley agrees. “What matters, though,” she tells him quietly, “is that you do.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Change is hard. And that's not a change.

He and one of the interns switch shifts at the shelter; the kid (and, yes, Loki feels old thinking of the guy that way… then again, he _is_ old, by comparison, no matter how stuck-forever-at-21 he may feel some days) has a big exam Thursday and needs to study the night before. Or something. The upshot of it all is: Loki walks home from the center, happily without anything that needs doing, and has quite a bit of time to read before Thor shows up to distract him.

~

It sounds good in theory. In practice he is anxious and bored and all kinds of frantic by the time his brother shows up. Even taken individually none of those things portends a good evening. Collectively, they pretty much guarantee it isn’t going to be one. Loki tries hard not to think about that as he putters around the kitchen, too restless to read and too tired to do anything that’s actually useful. At least all the dishes are put away?

In the end he gives up and flops back down on the sofa.

~

“Hey, baby,” Thor calls into the living room before he gets the door closed. He wanders in and drops a kiss on Loki’s nose; he smells like outdoors, even though he must have driven home. As usual he is too big for the apartment, and a little too loud. “Sorry I’m late,” he apologizes as he pets Marci. “I forgot you were coming home early and was halfway to the shelter before I remembered you wouldn’t be there.”

Loki rolls his eyes, even though his brother is looking the other direction and can’t see.

“Oh, and,” Thor goes on before Loki has a chance to think of anything fascinating to say, “I might have forgotten to tell you; I have to take a stupid class the week after next. It’s Tuesday through Thursday.”

“Will you still be able to pick me up that Tuesday,” Loki asks, grabbing a different magazine from the stack he’s stashed under his knees. “If not, I can try to get someone to-.”

“What? Oh, no,” Thor cuts in. “It’s at the vendor’s corporate headquarters, not here in town. So, yeah, you’ll need to get a ride. I can have the car service-.”

Thor might as well shut up, because Loki is stuck back at _not here in town._ His brother can’t. They don’t vacation alone, they don’t travel alone. They have an arrangement. It just isn’t possible. And if by some chance it _is_ possible, it isn’t okay. "No," Loki tells Thor, flatly. It’s not like there’s anything to talk about.

"I wasn't asking you," his brother corrects him, looking down at Loki like he’s just sprouted a second head. Or maybe a third, since he arguably has at least two already. "I was telling you."

Okay, _that’s_ not acceptable. Not at all. Especially not presented like this, like he doesn’t get a vote and there are no fucks given. "Still, no," he insists, any remaining patience entirely gone. "That's not part of our deal."

Thor’s features rearrange themselves into the faintly patronizing expression he wears around stupid people, the elderly, and children. "Look," he says, in his _I’m about to lecture you, but I promise it’s for your own good_ voice. "I don't have a choice. I have to go. And it's only for two days."

Oh, because _that_ makes a difference. Plus, it’s a fucking lie. "Three," Loki disagrees, calling his brother out on the _lying_ part without hesitation. "You said Tuesday, Wednesday," he repeats (counting the days off with one hand, on the other, because two can play at this _I’m talking with stupid [arrow pointing at you]_ game), "Thursday." Loki waves his hand, two fingers and one thumb sticking out, in Thor’s face. His brother sighs loudly. "Three,” Loki finishes. “And don't fucking sigh at me."

He can’t let this happen. He _can’t_. If Thor gets a taste of freedom, Loki knows, he is so, so fucked. He’s heard what happens on business trips. Fuck that; he’s _been_ what happens on business trips. Often. Pretty soon his brother will be _traveling_ (with, yes, big Odin-style air-quotes around it) all the time while his sucker of a little brother sits home innocent and abandoned.

_Abandoned_ , at least. Innocence is probably like virginity, in that it can’t grow back once you’ve lost it.

"It's only two _nights_ ,” Thor corrects, snapping Loki halfway out of the downward spiral. Only halfway, though; he’s still falling, just not plummeting at terminal velocity. “I'll be here when you leave for the center on Tuesday morning," his brother says, "and back before you go to bed Thursday evening." "Come on, baby," Thor pleads as Loki rolls his eyes. Again. "Like I said, I have to."

The almighty _but I have to._ Yeah, bullshit. His brother has never left town for work before – not for this job, not for his previous one, not in the whole time they’ve been back together - and the world has yet to end. "Or else what, exactly," Loki asks. He knows he sounds like he’s angling for a fight. He _is_ angling for a fight. If they fight, Thor can’t leave him.

Or, barring that, if he’s angry enough Loki won’t care when his brother does. At least for a few minutes, until his head explodes. After which point it won’t fucking matter.

"It's part of my _job_ ," Thor snaps. Like that makes a difference somehow. At least he’s finally getting mad too. Maybe _he_ will be the one to do something stupid for a change. It’s been a while.

"So, tell them you can't go,” Loki presses. “Your brother is sick, and you need to stay in town and keep an eye on him."

" _That's_ not going to help," Thor shoots back. "They'll just make me go another time. _My brother_ can't be _sick_ ," he sneers, air-quoting right back at Loki even though even he has to know by now that _it’s just not allowed_ , "forever."

That’s rich. Fucking rich. "Oh, but you see," Loki hisses, dumping his magazine back on the pile and getting quickly to his feet, because they are _so fucking done here_ , "that's where you're wrong." And then he whirls away and marches off down the hall.

He’s planning to stomp right on out onto the balcony, slam the door, and scream at the top of his lungs. Until he spots his boots, that is, sitting where he kicked them off by the dresser. And then he has a fucking amazing idea.

~

"What the hell do you think _you're_ doing,” Thor exclaims as Loki stalks past him.

"Going out," Loki says, still walking, “since it's okay for me to be on my own now."

"Excuse me,” Thor finally asks just as Loki gets the door open.

"You heard me," Loki says, pulling the door closed behind him. He doesn’t slam it because: neighbors. "Have a nice evening," he calls out mock-sweetly just as the latch engages.

~

It’s maybe three or four minutes before his brother, who is apparently getting slow in his old age, throws the stairway door open with a loud clang and races downstairs. Loki watches him go, leaning out over the railing for the best view. He may be slowing down, but he’s still just as noisy.

Loki gives Thor a couple of minutes to wise up and come back upstairs. When that doesn’t happen, he goes back to the apartment – good thing he took his keys; his brother actually closed the door this time, and with Mac _inside_ – and slings his leather jacket over the sofa arm. It’s less than ten minutes total before he’s back to his magazine.

That has to be some sort of record.

~

Unfortunately it takes quite a bit longer – long enough that he’s bored with his reading, bored with sitting here feeling smug, and quite a bit more than a little nervous about what might be going on - before Loki finally hears his brother’s key in the lock.

He hears voices, too. No no, the real kind.

“Thanks, man. Give my best to Sif,” Thor tells- Steve, it must be, as he pulls the door closed. He doesn’t slam it.

_Steve_. That’s okay, then. Loki feels a warm wave of relief and, right along with it, a sharp little prickle of fear. He counts to three, silently, as he waits for his brother to spot him.

“What the _fuck?_ ”

Loki looks up from his perch on the floor, where he’s been playing with Mac. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says, as tonelessly as he can manage under the circumstances. Which is to say, surprisingly, very toneless. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

Thor’s face goes from frantic to furious and back again. The white paper bag in his hand crackles as he stiffens. “Don’t even. Where the fuck have you been?”

“Right here, actually,” Loki tells his brother. It’s true. _It is._ He hasn’t been more than 30 feet away the entire time. “Where have _you_ been?”

Finally, Thor loses his grip on that famous temper and roars. Well, kind of; Mac instantly freaks and runs, at which point Thor stops cold. Loki didn’t realize he could _do_ that, even. “Shit,” he fusses. “Shit shit. I- I didn’t mean to scare him.”

“But it’s okay to scare me,” Loki finishes, even though he knows it’s bratty. He’s not quite done yet. Maybe he should be, but he isn’t.

“No, of course not,” Thor huffs. “But-.”

“Don’t,” Loki cuts him off, holding up a hand. “What did you bring me,” he asks, instead. He should probably calm down. They both should.

“Seriously,” Thor asks him, “you were here all along?”

Loki smirks. He’s proud of this, more proud than he ought to be. “Yep. I ducked into the stairs and went _up_ a floor,” he explains. “You ran right underneath me.”

“You little asshole,” Thor exclaims, shaking his head.

“Maybe,” Loki offers, because- it’s probably only fair. “Here, give me that,” he demands, reaching for the bag, “and go tell Mac you’re sorry.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki sees things a bit differently than Thor (thinks he does).
> 
>  
> 
> **WARNING:** Loki isn't entirely rational during this session and it shows more than normal. He makes brief internal references to suicide and self-harm, and he spends a while off in the weird imagery. It's all fairly mild, but I know most anything can be triggering...

“So,” Ginny suggests when Thor finishes his (to Loki’s ears, yes, but he _probably can’t_ be persuaded he’s biased, not just now) _long-winded and defensive_ description of The Great Training Discussion, a.k.a. _This Week’s Shitshow_ , “let’s give Loki a chance to tell us his version, why don’t we?”

Thor hesitates a moment before agreeing. Loki wants very much to poke him.

He doesn’t.

“Loki?” Ginny turns to look at him, smiling politely. “Can you tell us what you think happened?”

“Sure,” he says. After listening to _that_ , he is all fired up again and consequently _more_ than happy to provide a scathing review of his brother’s idiocy. “Let’s see if I can sum it up a bit more succinctly, shall we?” He smirks. It’s a low bar. “Thor came home late and, out of nowhere, announced that he was going out of town to training, whether I liked it or not. And then when I told him I _didn’t_ like it, he devalued my mental illness rather than sticking to the point. Oh, and afterwards,” he adds, because he’s still feeling rather smug about his own creativity close to 24 hours later, “he spent at least an hour outside freezing his ass off because he jumped to conclusions. The same hour,” he can’t resist adding, “that _I_ spent in my nice, warm apartment playing with my kitten.” Loki purses his lips and then nods sharply. “I think that about covers it.”

And then he feels a tiny, tiny flare of guilt; a little flower bud.

It’s not welcome. He quickly squashes it.

"Well," Ginny suggests before Thor can launch into rebuttals, "let's break this down a little more, shall we? Now, it's apparent to me," she goes on, briskly, looking first at Thor and then back at Loki, "that both of you are still harboring some feelings about what happened last night.”

_Hah, you think?_ Loki only just manages to avoid letting thinking turn into saying. Um, yeah, it’s fucking apparent to _everybody_.

“We'll get to those, I promise,” she assures them both. “A lot of things went _right_ \- hear me out, please," she (interrupts herself and) orders Thor, who has just ceded the battle of controlling his own _inside voice_ to Loki, "and I do want to be sure we don’t lose sight of them. Thor," she asks, "can you tell me something you think you handled well?"

Something in his brother’s expression changes – from angry to excited, like a little kid – and Loki’s tiny bud of guilt (rounds itself back out and) unfurls one petal. "I handled my temper well,” Thor offers, “at least considering how afraid I was.”

_Afraid? Huh._ Two petals. No, three.

"Thank you," Ginny says to Thor, and then – while he’s still mulling over _Thor was afraid_ , which probably should have been a big fat _duh_ but instead had completely eluded him somehow – it’s suddenly his turn: "Loki, how about you? What's something you feel _you_ handled well?"

She smiles at him, like he’s a nice person who deserves to be listened to nicely. To have his opinions nicely considered. Loki’s guilt is now- a rose? A peony? Something fluffy and full of petals.

A rose. Roses have fucking thorns.

_Thor_ ns. Hah.

Ginny looks at him expectantly. Oh, right.

"I didn't do anything stupid," he says, because maybe he should stick to talking about himself and stop sticking invisible knives into his brother. "I stayed in the building, I didn't hurt myself. I didn't do anything _regrettable_ ," he admits, and then he carefully smiles to make this feel more like teasing and less like _talking about suicide_. Maybe he sees why Thor was afraid after all; he doesn’t like it. "I mean, I suppose baiting my oaf of a brother could be lumped under _regrettable_ ,” he goes on, making sure he’s still smiling, “but it came out okay in the end."

Ginny nods. She looks interested, too interested; Loki wonders if he’s going to be grilled later, or if Dr. Riley will have _things to discuss_ in the morning.

"Good," she tells them, simply. "Both of you found ways to get your needs met; ways which,” she goes on, smiling again now, “although they admittedly don’t qualify as ideal, still didn't result in any real escalation. That's a big step!"

His brother looks- relieved. A little annoyed, maybe, but relieved. Loki’s chest hurts. He rolls his shoulders and pretends it’s physical, even though he knows full well it’s mental.

Thor raises his hand.

“Yes,” Ginny asks.

"He lied, though," his brother says, not looking at Loki. Annoyance has clearly won. "And that's hurtful."

Ohhh, thank poor dead baby jesus. Loki frowns to hide the way he’d otherwise be grinning. He can be a dick again, rather than drowning in guilt, and just in time to boot.

"I didn't lie," he says under his breath, before he can overthink that mess and find it’s really only left him feeling all the more guilty.

"Loki, do you have something to share," Ginny asks.

"I didn't lie," Loki points out. "I said I was going out; I did go out,” he explains. “I never specified how far out, or for how long."

"Remember what we talked about a few weeks ago,” Ginny inquires, “about how a successful relationship is not a zero-sum game?"

Loki nods. "If only one of us wins, both of us lose," he parrots back, because he does remember… even if he doesn’t agree and doesn’t like it. "I know, I know. But that was a big thing to just dump on me out of nowhere." 

"Oh, please," Thor snaps. "You're how old? You lived alone on the streets, as you're so fond of pointing out, for how long exactly?"

_Oh, nice one, brother!_ Any last lingering sting of guilt dissolves almost instantly into nothing, and Loki comes halfway up off the sofa.

"That's enough, Thor," Ginny cuts in. "Let me handle this," she orders. Loki bares his teeth but makes himself sit back down; he doesn’t think he came here wanting to stomp out, or to fight. Not today, at least.

_Maybe he shouldn’t, then, even though he sure wants to now_.

Or maybe he should, because it’s better than guilt. He can’t decide. Plus, it’s not like there isn’t any guilt out there in the big, bad world.

"Thor," Ginny starts again, and it’s all the warning Loki gets, “do you really think - just because he sometimes brags about it when people are pressuring him - that Loki considers his days on the street a good thing?"

It’s- insightful. Shockingly insightful. So insightful Loki can’t breathe. He’s sinking.

"I guess he _has_ told me it's not all it's cracked up to be," his brother says, from way off at the far end of a long, long tunnel.

Loki hugs himself and struggles not to rock.

"Exactly," Ginny says.

Maybe it’s not a tunnel… maybe he’s underwater. Down, down like a stone.

"Please keep in mind, too, that we're trying to keep this a safe place,” Ginny tells Thor, wherever they both are, “a place where each of you can feel comfortable talking without fear of ridicule."

"I'm sorry," Thor says. From up there.

"Don't tell me," Ginny directs. "Tell him."

"I'm sorry, baby," Thor says to the water. His words bubble and echo. "I was a jerk."

Loki’s brain has stalled. He can’t speak. He hopes he nods.

"So, what do you think actually happened," Ginny asks his brother. Bubble, bubble.

"I was stressed over going,” Thor explains.

It’s all words. English words. Bubbling, warped English words. Loki knows this, he does. He makes himself strain to listen, in case it does come together into anything he can make sense of.

“I _am_ stressed about it,” Thor corrects. “I don't want to go; the whole thing makes me uncomfortable." He pauses; Loki holds his own breath. "I wasn't even thinking about how he might react.” Thor says. “Well, I was, but I was-.”

"Go on," Ginny prods after a long beat. Loki is still holding his breath. He feels- more buoyant. Like he may be rising to the surface. Or at least no longer sinking.

"I- I kind of wanted him to make a scene so I’d have to stay home but it wouldn’t be my choice or my fault.” Thor doesn’t use any punctuation. Loki pops through the surface of the water, which is thick like Jell-O, and bobs there trying not to gasp for air. Or hurl. Or dig his nails into his arms and rake at the skin until there’s blood.

Thor _laughs_. “Pretty stupid, huh,” he asks Loki.

It’s actually the smartest thing Thor has said in days, and it gives Loki something to cling to. “Pretty _ironic_ , try,” he tells his brother, marveling a little that his own mouth works properly.

Thor laughs harder. “The best part is, I shot myself in the proverbial foot,” he goes on. He’s oblivious, which is fine. Ideal, even. “He tried to tell me I should use him as an excuse,” Thor tells Ginny, “and I was so busy arguing by then that I made an impressive case for why I couldn’t do it.”

_Oh._ So they were both fucking stupid, then. Maybe that explains the Jell-O water. Except, yeah, it doesn’t. _Maybe_ , Loki thinks, _I’ve finally gone completely crazy_. “Let me guess,” he forces himself to tease, unwinding a little and turning so he can just see Thor. “It made sense at the time.”

He rolls his shoulders again. The whole business with the water is starting to dissipate, like a bad dream.

“How are you feeling about all of this now,” Ginny asks his brother. Timing is everything.

“Stupid, really,” Thor says. “I wish we could have just try the whole conversation over again, from the very beginning.”

“You can, you know,” she points out. “Loki,” she asks as he makes himself look at her. She looks calm and unruffled; he does his best to achieve the same. “Would that be okay with you?”

He shrugs and folds his hands neatly in his own sweaty lap. “I hardly think,” he tells her, “we could botch it _more_ thoroughly.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The road to hell is paved with bad dreams and good intentions...

_The man doesn’t really look like his brother, but – in that weird way of dreams, where you’re certain something’s wrong but you can’t manage to wake yourself up and escape it - Loki knows beyond a doubt that it’s Thor._

_Thor is sitting at a table. As tables go this particular one is grey and featureless; a dull metallic thing in an equally dull, grey, featureless space._

_Loki can't call this place a room, exactly, because room implies walls and ceilings and doors whereas this has- nothing. It’s just grey blending into darker grey blending into black beyond the impotent reach of the lights. Still, somehow he knows the table is a breakfast table._

_A place for meals._

_A place for family._

_Across from Thor Odin sits quietly. He plays with his fork, dragging it silently back and forth across the dingy rag that’s serving as his placemat. With each slow stroke the rough fabric bunches and smoothes, bunches and smoothes._

_Loki watches as Frigga appears out of the gloom, a platter in one hand and a handful of bright, patterned napkins - the only spot of color in the room, save for the slabs of pinkish-red ham and mounds of golden scrambled eggs heaped on the platter - in the other. Thor scoots his own chair closer to the table with a loud screech that almost drowns out Loki's growling stomach._

_Almost, but not quite._

_The ham smells so good that Loki's mouth waters. The nicely browned toast heaped with strawberry preserves all but makes him cry._

_"Where's your brother," Frigga asks Thor, brows pinched together as she looks this way and that in the dimly lit space. "Ham and eggs is his favorite meal.” When no one answers, she takes one careful last look around. "Loki?"_

_Maybe it’s just the weird lighting; Loki isn’t sure why she can’t see him. He comes out of the shadows and strides towards the table. "Right here, mom," he says. "Right behind you."_

_And then he smacks full-speed into- a wall? A glass wall, or maybe a thick plastic one. It's like an aquarium. A Loquarium. "Mom?" He calls out a little louder this time, even though she's so close he could touch her. "MOM!"_

_No one reacts. It’s like he isn’t here at all._

_Thor shrugs. "He's out, mom," his brother tells her._

_"Don't bother waiting for him," Odin adds. "You know how he gets. He may never come back."_

_"More for the rest of us, then," Thor quips, laughing as he scoops forkful after forkful of eggs onto his own plate._

_Frigga still looks worried. Unconvinced. "We should save him something," she insists, "in case he's hungry when he gets home."_

_"He won't be," Odin says, with heavy finality._

_Thor nods. "He hasn't got it."_

_"I'M RIGHT HERE," Loki howls, smacking both fists against the unyielding surface. "AND I’M STARVING. MOM! THOR!!"_

_The three of them – Thor, Frigga, Odin - eat their ham and eggs and crisp, buttery toast in silence while Loki pounds on the wall. He hits until his hands bleed, and then he writes EREH THGIR M'I in blood across the smooth clear expanse. The blood trickles down, down, dribbling like so many reddish tears, until the words themselves are all but illegible. Not that it matters; his family talks on quietly, eating and smiling, as though everything is perfectly normal._

_He slides his throbbing, battered palms slowly along the glass, smearing blood in his wake. It's not a wall; it's a cube. A box, not more than seven feet to a side. If he stretches up, swaying a little dizzily, he can wipe his messy, ruined hands along the underside of the lid. The ceiling. "MOM," he tries one final time, and then "THOR." And then he does cry._

_Nothing._

_"You know," his brother says around a generous mouthful of food, "I almost like it better this way. Just the three of us. No more drama."_

_Odin puts his silverware down, a little too noisily. "It's not as though he was happy," he agrees. "Why should we all suffer?"_

_Frigga pushes back from the table, gets up, and walks away._

_The air in the cube is thicker now. Stale. It smells coppery, like old blood. Loki is finding it harder and harder to breathe, to the point where he has to drop heavily to his knees. His arms hang limp at his sides. He looks at one wrist and then the other, and then frantically back and forth again. And again. His markings - everything that makes him HIM - are gone._

_Loki gawks. His fingers are bluish in the gloom. His hands. His forearms. All of him, bluish and smeared with gore. "I'm here," he rasps, almost too faint to hear. "Please," he begs, swaying on his knees. "Don't let me-."_

_And then he collapses._

_When he reaches the bottom, the place where the floor should be, Loki just keeps on falling._

"Ahhh!"

He looks around himself frantically, trying to make sense of what's happened. Of where he is. Of _what_ he is. His legs are tangled in something, tentacles dragging him down, down; Loki struggles violently, kicking out in all directions and panting hard, and then he's falling again.

~

This fall is shorter, its end both more abrupt and more painful. And when he lashes out this time, Loki smacks his knee hard against-.

Metal.

A bed frame. A cold, heavy metal bed frame, and then sheets and a hanging flap of comforter. 

His bed. Their bed.

"Fuck!" He scrubs at his face viciously with both hands, smearing sweat and saliva everywhere. The clock on the dresser, the old digital one they’ve hung onto ad nauseam because Thor hates groping for his phone at night, reads 2:13 AM.

Loki groans. “Fuck,” he says again. He struggles to his feet, doing the best he can to disentangle himself from the bedclothes. “Jesus,” he says to the room at large, “what the fuck was _that_ all about?”

“Mmh?” Thor rolls over, pulling uselessly at the tangled covers. “Baby?”

“Shh,” Loki tells his brother. He’s still having quite a bit of trouble catching his breath. “Go back to sleep, Thor” he adds, which is a little stupid because to be honest his brother hasn’t actually _stopped_ sleeping to begin with.

But then Thor does. He rolls up onto one elbow, blinking. “Why are you out of bed, baby? Loki? Are you okay?”

“Sure,” Loki lies. He clears his throat. “Nightmare. I got tangled in the covers.” Actually it’s fairly true, as far as it goes.

Thor sits up. He wipes his nose and looks at Loki. “Did you fall out of bed,” he asks, one corner of his mouth curling up into a crooked little smirk. “Loki? Did you?”

“Maybe,” Loki says. He smiles, too. It’s an easy out, far easier than explaining what really happened could ever be.

He can’t keep it up, though – he’s shaking. “Sorry I woke you,” he tells his brother. That’s true, too.

As far as it goes.

Thor pats the mattress. “Come back here,” he says. “You must be cold.”

Loki nods. That’s another easy out. He climbs slowly back into bed, slipping carefully between the sheets, and lets his brother fuss over him.

It kind of helps. Loki doesn’t sleep, not even after Thor’s strong arms go slack, breath warm and steady against his shoulder

But he- he isn’t falling.

Not anymore.

And he knows, if he has to make a sound, Thor will _hear_ him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some days, it's hard being stuck in an endless sea of counseling.

"I had a nightmare," Loki admits when Dr. Riley points out that he looks like ass. She doesn't put it _quite_ that bluntly, true, but it’s not like she’s much of one for candy-coating things. Plus, he has eyes. His own mirror gave him the unvarnished truth first thing this morning. "And then I was afraid to go back to sleep." He shrugs. "Because, you know… I'm five."

She cocks an eyebrow. "Want to talk about it?"

He smiles. "Well, everyone else around me grew up, but me? I just got bigger. Inside this amazing packaging I'm still five. _Ohhhhh_ ," he adds in mock realization when she rolls her eyes, "you mean about the _dream_. Not much to tell," he says. "Trapped in a box, no one could hear me, wrote on the walls in blood, fell. The usual shit." Loki shrugs again. "See? Nothing."

Dr. Riley sighs and leans back, folding her hands across her lap. "What I _see_ just now is you, desperate not to talk about anything important," she tells him. "Unfortunately - or fortunately; it's a matter of perspective – that’s exactly what I’m here for."

She watches him for a few moments. He opts not to comment.

"We can come at the whole discussion differently, though," she offers, “if you think that might be easier.”

_Oh, yippee._ "How so," he asks. "I gave you all the high points. Now you, what, tell me my unconscious feels silenced?"

She gives him a knowing little look that makes him cringe. "That's a perfect place to start, actually," she assures him. "Dr. Potts tells me you had a bit of a rough night _before_ you ever made it to your bedroom. She thought there might be a few things _there_ you'd benefit from discussing."

Loki snorts. "I think I'd rather talk about the dream." _It's a matter of perspective, after all_.

"What from your joint session really stuck with you," she asks, and then smiles a crooked half-smile. "Because _I'd_ rather talk about this for a while."

Loki swallows, loudly. His mouth is awfully, uncomfortably dry. "Thor threw my usual speech about how successfully I lived on the streets in my face," he admits. "I can't really blame him; it's been my go-to _go fuck yourself, mighty savior_ argument for a long time." He swallows again. What he wouldn't give for a soda.

"And?" Dr. Riley is still leaning back, but she’s- focused. Intent.

"And she probably already told you exactly how she handled it," Loki stalls. He knows what’s coming. His chest constricts painfully, just like it did on Ginny's sofa.

"Humor me," she instructs, "and tell it to me your way."

Ugh. "I swear, you fucking feed off my agony," he grumbles, looking at his own hands. He needs to do his nails. Badly.

"No," Dr. Riley points out, "but I think _you_ do."

A breath Loki didn't know he'd even been able to pull in bursts out of him in a weak little huff. "Not fair," he protests.

She waits and waits, until he finally looks her in the face again. Without prompting. "I'm not trying to hurt you," she reminds him, her voice very soft.

Hot tears well up. He nods and looks away, wiping furiously at his wet face. "Fine," he chokes out. "Ginny told Thor that - even though I put a brave face on it - he should stop and think about- about how I might not have enjoyed my- my- uh- _that time_ in my life very much." He snuffles. Loudly. "So then _I_ stopped and thought about it."

"Mm," she hums sympathetically as he takes a little sob break. This one is bad, bad enough that he has to grope around for one of the ubiquitous boxes of tissues.

"She's right, you know," he says of Ginny, after a good nose-blowing. "I didn't like it much. But no one lets me say that."

Which, yes, is fucking stupid because _someone_ just did. Loki sucks in a wet breath. "Okay, maybe _I_ don't let me say it."

"It's a hard place to go," Dr. Riley observes.

_Yeah, it is. It really, really fucking is._ All Loki can manage is a nod.

~

This time she lets him cry for what feels like an eternity, until he’s a puffy-faced wreck and he knows he’s going to have to go hide somewhere for a while.

“It’s okay,” she tells him when he’s past the worst of it and just flopped there snuffing and gurgling and soggy, “to feel really conflicted about- about all of it, actually.”

“Hm?”

“It’s okay,” she repeats. “It’s okay to grieve what you’ve lost and to be very glad it’s gone. To be proud as fuck of what you’ve done and to hate yourself for it. All at the same time,” she clarifies. “It makes for a bit of a busy head, though, doesn’t it?”

Loki can’t help it; wrecked or no, he snorts at that one.

And then has to wipe his nose. Urgently.

“I think you’ll find,” she says when he quiets down again. “that you can’t really start to heal from something until you give yourself permission to feel it.”

He frowns, mostly at the ceiling. “Hm.”

“Notice,” she points out, “that I haven’t said you have to feel or process it in a particular way. That’s very intentional. But you do have to extend yourself that permission.”

“When I give myself permission,” Loki starts, but chokes on some saliva or snot or whatever and has to sputter and cough for a while. “ _Fuckity fucking hell_. Anyway, when I give myself permission,” he tries again, “I just get myself in trouble.” He tries to laugh. It doesn’t work. “Big, big trouble.”

“Well,” Dr. Riley says, and she’s not laughing either, “that’s why you have me here to help you.” Her chair creaks as she shifts a little. “So, back to that dream.”

Loki groans. “Seriously?” He’s not sure he’s up for any more therapy, not right this second. He’s done. _Done_.

“Just for a minute or two,” she assures him. “And then you can go on about your not-so-merry way. Tell me, does anything new come to mind?”

Something does. He’s not sure if it’s related to the dream, though. “If I tell people- if I tell _Thor_ \- Fuck.” He has to stop and collect himself. This is rough, rough going. “If I admit how I really feel, people will take that and use it against me.” He sighs. “I mean, who wouldn’t,” he asks when she doesn’t answer. “ _I_ do.”

“Oh, yes,” she agrees. “I know.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Home alone and making the best of it.

The last few days before Thor leaves for training fly by in a tumbling rush of _best behavior_ and _forget-me-not sex_. For once the two of them seem to have gotten all the really nasty arguing out of their systems. Or maybe they've just gotten their heads wedged so deep in the sand they can no longer hear one another.

Whatever it is, Loki's not complaining. Really. He is 100% not complaining, because the last thing he wants his brother remembering _on that business trip_ is how annoying the person waiting back at home can be. No, nope, never. Instead he's all skimpy clothes and attentive backrubs and hot, wet kisses. Oh, and dinners at home and playing with kittens. Domestic bliss. By the love of sweet baby jesus, he will _make_ that brother of his miss him or fucking die trying. Die fucking trying.

Die fucking, all stop.

The night before Thor leaves he hurriedly packs his bag. Loki pretends not to watch as each pair of boxers ( _those are kind of ratty - win_ ) and each business casual golf shirt disappears into the thing's gaping, zipper-toothed maw. Thor needs to hit the road super-early in the morning and faces a long, dull drive; staying up all night tonight rocking the bedframe isn't the right approach, and Loki carefully doesn't suggest it.

Neither of them cries during _the grand goodbye_ , either (although, as Thor turns away, Loki thinks he does see a little suspicious wetness going).

Himself? No no, that's just allergies.

~

The center looks exactly like it always does. The same guard calls the usual cheery hello; the same girl at the same counter quickly reviews Loki’s schedule. When he requests for an extra art class - he doesn't want any downtime, not today - she simply nods like it’s the most ordinary thing in the universe. "Clay or drawing," she asks, after scanning both sides of the art room sheet. "I can get you into either one no problem."

"Clay," Loki tells her. "Free-thrown." He feels like slapping something around, and for sure stress doesn't mix well with pencils. She prints him a new schedule and wishes him a nice day, and off he goes.

Merrily.

Okay, not quite, but by the time he gets to his first DBT class Loki doesn't even feel like a hot mess. Not really.

And once the day gets rolling, it feels exactly like any other day. Easy. He can almost pretend he's fine. Dr. Riley asks him about it after lunch; he's a little surprised to find his _I'm good, thanks_ barely feels like lying.

~

The shelter is bright and happy. "Phone sex," he tells Darcy when she asks what he's doing later.

She laughs as she stuffs her things - notebook, tablet, brochure, trashy novel, cat treats - back into her bag. "Selling, or buying?"

He winks. "Giving away free samples. I have a traveling businessman to keep out of trouble."

"Ohhhh," she says. "I hope he knows he doesn't stand a chance."

"If he doesn't, he will," Loki tells her. "I have black fishnets."

"And on _that_ note," she chirps, swinging her jam-packed bag over one shoulder and starting for the front entrance, "I'll be in my bunk."

~

"How come everyone else has all the fun," Matt asks after the door clanks shut behind her.

Loki laughs. "You're too young."

~

It's not bad. He jerks off, teasing his brother with those fabulous stockings.

Afterwards _Thor_ returns the gesture, in his plain old clothes and skin. His crimson blushing face makes up for a lot of vanilla fwappity-fwapping, though... as do the thick spurts of semen that follow. Not that Loki's paranoid or anything. But it’s good to see his brother isn’t- hasn’t- well, yeah.

They say their lovey-dovey goodbyes and sign off.

Without Thor here, warm and cuddly, going to sleep in his own spunk and waking up stiff and crusty holds little appeal. Loki trudges off to the shower - even though it's already after midnight - and stands under the hot spray until he's warm and loose and sleepy. And then he shuts his eyes and pulls himself off again, with the sort of rough, quick strokes he can easily pretend are his brother's.

Once he’s all clean and mostly dry, he toddles back to bed.

~

Loki doesn't have trouble dozing off, for once.

There isn't any shitty horrible dreaming, either.

~

His alarm goes off way the fuck too early, and his hair is nothing short of a shitshow, but Loki is too busy plotting the next evening adventure to care. He rakes his frizzy, wavy mop into the world's scariest ponytail. "Hello gorgeous," he tells his own reflection, then makes a face. Awful. Just awful. "Jeeebus,” he orders himself as he washes up, “have some coffee."

~

“This is delicious,” Sif tells Loki as she scoops up a big mouthful of chicken makhani with a hunk of naan. “Coming here was a good idea.”

“Mm!” Steve nods and raises his water glass. “Thor should leave you behind more often,” he says. The food is spicy; his _all-American football captain_ face is flushed and a bit sweaty.

Loki is sweating too, even though he probably couldn’t look less like anyone’s football anything. He sits between his friends, licking his own spicy fingers with unbridled enthusiasm. The booth is small; Sif and Steve are both squished up against him. It’s warm and companionable and not the least bit awkward. “You can always take me out to dinner,” he says. Comfortable as he might be, he’s still a little melancholy. “But I miss him. I wish he was going to be there when I get home.”

Sif makes a sympathetic little noise. “I bet you do, baby. Is he calling you later?”

He shoots her a wicked, wicked grin. “Oh, yes.”

“The weather’s been pretty amazing recently, don’t you think,” Steve chimes in.

They all dissolve into laughter.

Loki hopes their impromptu selfie makes his brother smile. And then maybe almost cry, at least a little.

~

"You never did tell me what that thing was." Loki doesn’t bother looking up at the camera; Thor’s rough voice tells him everything he needs to know. Instead he works on patiently, setting up one of his favorite glass electrodes.

It doesn’t hurt, true, but it looks very, very pretty.

Once he has everything assembled and ready to go, Loki grins at the laptop’s little camera. "Sometimes a picture is worth a thousand words,” he tells his brother as he reaches over and dims the light on his bedside table. “Like this, eh?”

Loki settles himself back in the middle of the bed, and then switches the toy on. He doesn’t set it up very high… tonight he wants to turn his brother into a puddle of horny goo, not (punish himself and) scare Thor into never wanting to see the thing again.

“So what does it do,” Thor asks. He sounds nervous, even over the electrode’s crackling.

_Shh_ , Loki thinks. _You’ll like this. I promise_.

He brings the wand to his chest and lets it arc to first one nipple and then the other. “This is infinitely more fun with a friend, ” he explains, a little breathless, “but- ah- it makes an attractive lightshow either way.”

The bright laptop screen is awfully distracting. Loki closes his eyes and lets himself drift into what amounts to a sex-drenched trance. Inside his own head he pictures Thor kneeling up over him, dragging the electrode _here_ and _here_ and _oh holy fuck yes HERE_ , and then-.

Thor’s stifled moan brings him back. Right. _For Thor._ “Doesn’t that hurt,” his brother asks as Loki – trying his best to nonchalantly pretend the whole thing is just an act, sticks his face all up in the camera and zaps his own outstretched tongue. “It looks like it hurts.”

“It can,” Loki admits. His tongue is kind of numb and thick-feeling. “With a metal tip. This- doesn’t,” he pants. “It feels good.” He lets his eyes fall shut again, then slowly drags the electrode the full length of his torso. “Really, really good.’

And then out of nowhere he feels a little- _sad_ again. He turns the wand off and settles back into his soft nest of pillows, blinking at the laptop’s glare. “But it would be so much nicer if you were here.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Thor assures him. “But don’t for a second think you’re going to be using that thing on me.”

That brightens the mood up some, enough that Loki can laugh. “I bet I can get you to let me. Someday. But, no, that wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” he admits, one hand gravitating to his own dick. “So, it’s your turn for show and tell. What have you got to show me?”

His brother wastes no time stripping. “What do you want to see,” Thor asks, clawing his hair out of his face with both hands.

“Touch yourself,” Loki orders, “and pretend that it’s me.”

His brother does… and oh, it makes for a lovely, lovely view.

Still, he wants Thor _home_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heimskringla. Okay, yes, maybe that's exaggerating.

"Excuse me. Ugh," Darcy rasps at the end of a loud coughing spell. "Are you sure you don't mind? I know Matt’s already called in and you were hoping to- hold on," she interrupts herself to cough some more. "Jeez. I know you wanted to leave early."

Actually, he'd more been looking forward to chatting with her about his recent electrical kink session - Thor won't be home until the end of his shift anyway - but she sounds like shit and Loki knows he shouldn't try to push her. "No, it's fine," he assures her. "I'll have the new kid here until we close the adoption center anyway. Seriously, you don't need to come in at all. I can do it."

She laughs. "I know you can," she says, her voice so hoarse it’s almost unrecognizable, "but I still need to drop off the press materials for Keisha. I'll stop by after you're gone," she adds, "to save you lovebirds from catching my cooties."

Loki snorts. "Oh, puleeze," he huffs. "We’re not _lovebirds_. It's not like we're 15 or anything."

"No," she agrees, "it's worse. Now stop making me laugh before I cough myself to death."

" _Fine_ ," he tells her. "Suit yourself. Seriously, though rest up and feel better. I'll see you Tuesday."

"Yes, mom," she teases. "I'll expect a full accounting, you know."

"Be careful what you ask for," he threatens, "because you never know; you just might get it."

~

Quin, the new kid in question, is a communications major. He's planning to work in public relations or development, which all amounts to a nicer way of saying _he can talk the paint clean off a wall._ Loki cheerfully gives him the run of the front desk.

Alone, because even two’s a crowd in the right (wrong) circumstances.

"Yell if you need me," Loki suggests as he heads for the nursery. "If, like, you get a customer you can't handle."

"They can't build a customer I can't handle," Quin promises, and Loki doesn't for a second doubt it. "Go do your poop thing."

If Darcy was here, they would share a knowing look and an eyebrow waggle, because _your kink is not my kink_ when it comes to scat as far as Loki is concerned. She isn't though, so he just hums a little noncommittal noise and goes on about his business. There are certain things he just _cannot_ discuss with the interns and this is without a doubt one of them.

About 15 minutes before he expects Thor – in other words, after they're officially closed for the night but not _so_ ridiculously early that it's going to set off any warnings in Quin's people-centric little brain - Loki grabs his cleaning bucket and heads back out into the main room. "You can take off if you want," he suggests airily. "I'm all done in the back, and I just have to do the cages. Darcy will be in to lock up." None of it is _un_ true, exactly.

"You sure? I can stay," Quin offers. “I’d be glad to.” He always acts like time alone is a fate worse than death. Maybe for him it is.

"Positive," Loki tells him decisively. "Go do your homework."

"Okay I'm going I'm going," Quin grumbles, backing away with his hands up as Loki makes little shooing motions. "I'm not a _cat_ , you know."

_More's the pity_ , Loki doesn't say. "Have a good night," he calls mock-cheerfully after Quin's retreating back instead.

The door slams with a loud clang. "Sweet baby jesus," Loki says, loudly, to no one. "I can't help it," he tells the wall of cats. "He annoys the living fuck out of me. And someday I swear he will annoy the _dead_ fuck out of me. Jesus." He looks around. "Okay, let's clean you monsters up so I can get myself some action."

The cages are in good shape, actually. Loki, in frantic time-killing mode, had scrubbed them clean enough to _lick_ just two days ago; for once, they’ve stayed clean since no one has diarrhea. It's mostly just a case of swapping out litter and wiping everything down with bleach solution.

Oh, and playing. He can't short the cats their fair share of the love, just because his mind is elsewhere. Plus, this is the easy part.

Loki has two mid-sized kittens doing honest-to-fuck backflips - little tiger arcs of grey and black and brown - when the buzzer sounds.

"Coming," he howls, scurrying after his furry charges and scooping them back into their cage. He brushes the worst of the cat hair off his front, gives his ponytail a once-over, and _races_ for the door.

_Thor_.

Thor, in all his big, golden glory, with puffy eyes and a shit-eating grin that rivals Loki's own.

It takes Loki a split second to decide between making out and crying. Making out mostly wins.  
~

After several good minutes of _getting reacquainted_ , his brother shakes him loose despite his clinging protests.

“Easy, cowboy,” Thor starts off, planting a much softer, less frenzied kiss of his own on Loki’s forehead. “Slow down. I have plans. Good plans,” he explains hastily. “Pierogies, then a little kitten time, and then-,” he adds, mouthing along Loki’s cheekbone, “I want you to show me how to use that- that _thing_.”

_Seriously? That thing?_ Loki bursts out laughing. “I think you know how to use your _thing_ , Thor,” he reminds his brother, “and mine, for that matter. What are we, five? It’s a _violet wand_ ,” he says, slowly and precisely. “Say it for me.” 

“Violet wand,” Thor mutters. “Fine. You knew what I meant.”

Loki twists a little and catches his brother’s bottom lip in another rough kiss. “I did,” he says into Thor’s mouth. “And I like your plan,” he adds, because he does. A lot, actually. He backs off a little and gives his brother’s arm a tug. “Let’s get on with it.”

~

They stop for Polish takeout. He’s starving; if he had it his way, Loki would eat his share – and then Thor… not Thor’s, but _Thor _\- in the car.__

__Instead, his brother makes him wait. And, just now, waiting is so difficult it borders on painful._ _

__~_ _

__“Mmm,” Thor says when they’re finally settled, with their dinner, in the relative comfort of their own living room. “These are delicious.” He pops a pumpkin ravioli in his mouth, whole, and then offers one to Loki. He’s right, too; it’s wonderful. “It’s good,” he says around a mouthful of pumpkin and cheese, “to be home.”_ _

__Loki licks his own sweet-salty, buttery lips. “It’s good to have you back,” he agrees. “The monsterette missed you,” he points out, nodding towards Mac. He kisses Thor’s nose, then cheek, then mouth. “And my dick missed you.”_ _

__Thor smiles, his lips slick and warm against Loki’s. “How did it even have time to notice I was gone?’_ _

__“It’s smarter than you think,” Loki assures him. “It just knows.”_ _

__~_ _

__Thor, it turns out, is surprisingly good with the violet wand… once he gets past his self-consciousness and starts focusing his undivided attention on what he’s supposed to be doing. By the time he starts really struggling – for entirely different reasons, the kind Loki lives for – to maintain his concentration, Loki is rock-hard and twitchy and barely in control._ _

__“Come here,” Thor growls, fumbling to switch _the thing_ off and set it aside. It clatters a little as it lands on the dresser. Thor shoves Loki roughly down to kneeling and shucks off his own pants and shirt, moving so quickly that he catches a foot in his fly and almost stumbles._ _

__And then he gives 110% as Loki eats him like so much candy._ _

__~_ _

__When it’s all over – when Loki’s taken Thor’s load all over his face and licked it off his brother’s rough, warm fingers, then collapsed on the floor and let Thor fist him through an orgasm that leaves him shaking – his brother scoops him up, sweat and jizz and all, and tucks him gently into bed._ _

__~_ _

__“I love you,” Thor says quietly, once he’s slid under the covers and wrapped Loki in a giant, sticky hug. It sounds surprisingly nice after a few days apart, and Loki has to admit (to himself, and even that’s only because he’s so drained and sleepy) that he’d happily hear more of it._ _

__Loki takes a deep breath; as his ribcage shifts, he can feel his brother’s chest hair tickling all across his shoulders. He wriggles closer and takes another big gulp of air. _Of courage_. “Thank you for coming back,” he says into his own pillow._ _

__He feels, rather than hears, Thor’s sharp gasp. “I wouldn’t abandon you, ever,” his brother swears. “Not for anything.”_ _

__Just now, warm and safe and cherished, Loki can almost believe it._ _


End file.
